<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It Can't Rain All the Time by Serpentwyne</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118113">It Can't Rain All the Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentwyne/pseuds/Serpentwyne'>Serpentwyne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sally Face (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Rewrite, Eventual Smut, Horror, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Series, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:26:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentwyne/pseuds/Serpentwyne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring moments in between the original story's lines.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sal Fisher/Larry Johnson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part I</p><p>(Takes place during "Strange Neighbors")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything in the apartments smelled. No matter how much they cleaned, his room smelled like mold, damp, and death. The stench didn't help when he woke from his nightmares and recalled the smell of the room he was in when he saw his mother's corpse. He didn't know he was seeing her dead body at the time, but he did know that smell wasn't normal. He didn't smell like that; no one he knew did. Just that room. Her. He still didn't understand why his dad let him go in there. It wasn't like he could say goodbye. She was already gone, and seeing her like that had haunted him almost every night since. Her face was pale. No, not pale. Grey. The blood on her face had coagulated into a deep, dark red that wasn't the angry, alive color it had been when he felt it splash, warm, onto his face. It was a dead color.</p><p>Sal drew his blankets tighter around himself and tried to breathe through the memories, the smell. Most of the time, his prosthetic would shield him from the awful stench, but, at night, he didn't wear his prosthetic. Not when he was alone in his room. Well…not alone, but Gizmo didn't care. He could feel the soft vibrations of his cat's breaths and the warmth against his side. Usually, Gizmo's presence did comfort him. Just not when that smell overwhelmed him. And, tonight, it was especially pungent. Throwing his heavy comforter off of himself, he rolled into a sitting position and raised his hands to his face to rub his scarred cheeks, his forehead, his chest, trying to rid himself of the weighty feeling that built inside of him.</p><p>"Fuck."</p><p>These nightmares never felt like normal nightmares. He couldn't just pet Gizmo, go piss, turn on his TV, and get over them. Every time he had one, it felt like it ate another piece of his soul. No matter how many pills his therapist gave him. No matter how many times he "talked through them." No matter how much his dad wished he would stop waking him up at night, screaming. Luckily, tonight wasn't a screaming night. But he still couldn't shake it. He focused on the feeling of the carpet on the soles of his feet, between his toes. Focused on his breath. Reached to turn on his lamp. None of it mattered. The smell and the feeling were still too much. Sal pushed himself up from his bed so abruptly that it scared Gizmo, who meowed and scurried from the blankets, his fur bristling.</p><p>"Sorry, buddy."</p><p>Sal had to get out of there, or he was going to lose it.</p><p>He looked down at his state of dress, not remembering how he fell asleep. The dreams and nightmares were so intense that, most of the time, he didn't have any recollection of going to bed, no idea where he had been or what he'd worn or felt or thought. The first thing that hit him was that he’d fallen asleep with his glass eye in. It was so dry, he felt like his eyelid was sticking to it. Popping it out, he dropped it into the glass of saline he kept by his bed and rubbed at his shrunken eyelid. He looked down at his lap and discovered he already had black sweatpants on, but no shirt. The sweatpants had a stain on them from the ketchup he'd spilled on himself earlier. His dad had made them chicken nuggets for dinner. </p><p>Just chicken nuggets. For the fifth night in a row. </p><p>He'd been so annoyed that he'd taken his food to his room, locked the door, and eaten in bed, ignoring his dad asking him if he was okay. Maybe it wasn't very nice of him, but Sal was just <em> so </em> tired. Dad didn't have time for anything but work and booze. Sal knew he meant well. It just wasn't enough. He missed his mom, missed the way she listened to him. Missed the time they spent together. Missed the meals she cooked.</p><p>He knew his dad missed her too. He felt his heart sink into his stomach. He'd been an asshole, and he'd fallen asleep an asshole.</p><p>Rifling through his pile of clean clothes, Sal grabbed a plain black shirt and yanked it on. He jerked some socks on, shoved his feet into his black Converse and tied them haphazardly. The need to get out of his room, maybe even the whole apartment building, unsettled him so much that he nearly forgot his prosthetic, which he never did. He stopped at the door, turned, and grabbed it off of his bedpost. He clasped the two clasps behind his hair, not really caring that some of his blue strands got snagged in the process. Pain wasn't the deterrent for him that it was for most people.</p><p>He turned to leave, but then he had a thought, and he snatched his walkie-talkie from his dresser. And the joint he had hidden in the top drawer of his nightstand.</p><p>Carefully, he made sure his door didn't creak too much as he slipped into the living room, Gizmo slinking out from behind him, no doubt to get to his food dish in the kitchen. Sal looked around. He ignored the feeling of being watched, even though he was positive one of the building's apparitions lurked in the apartment that night. He felt them every time. Sometimes he could hear their whispers like something tickling the edges of his ears. Tonight, he felt indifferent about deciphering them. He just wanted out, to the secret smoking spot that Larry showed him.</p><p>The ding of the old, shaky elevator sounded like a shriek in the quiet hallway when it reached the first floor, and he prayed that Mrs. Gibson didn't open her door to see who was wandering this late.</p><p>When Sal reached the nest of trees to the east of the building, he pulled the walkie out of his pants pocket.</p><p>"Larry. Paging Larry."</p><p>The walkie's static continued. Weird. Larry always answered, even this late. He didn't keep normal human hours.</p><p>"Hey. Larry. Answer me."</p><p>More static. Sal sighed, prepared to try one more time before he left Larry alone. Maybe he just didn't want to talk. But as he readied to push the button, the dull static crackled to life, quieted, and then, "Sal? What's up?" Larry's voice was subdued, thick with sleepiness.</p><p>"Oh shit. <em>Wow</em>. You were actually sleeping. Sorry, man. I guess I'll just have to smoke this joint without you."</p><p>"No! No way. Dude. I wasn't sleeping. I'm coming, chill." The abrupt change in Larry's demeanor and the obvious lie made Sal giggle to himself as he tucked the walkie back in his pocket, twisted the rolled-up joint between his fingers and slid it out. Larry rolled it for him from his mom's stash and gave it to him during sixth period when they were out behind the gym skipping. He'd said to hit him up on the walkie whenever he wanted to try it for the first time.</p><p>Anything to get rid of the lingering nightmare and the chill he felt in his living room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for taking a look. </p><p>Comments and feedback make me happy, so please do. ♡</p><p>This fic will be updated every 7-10 days.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Larry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part I</p><p>(Takes place during "Strange Neighbors")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clock read 3:15 AM. Larry shifted so his feet touched the floor, noticing he still had his shoes on. And his clothes. He hadn't been sleeping very well - when he actually tried to - and the deprivation finally caught up to him. Drool had gathered at the corner of his mouth in his sleep, and he felt it, wet, dribbling down his chin. He wiped his face against his shoulder and started to reorient himself.</p><p>As soon as he shifted a little bit, he knew he was on his bean bag, the beans giving way, making it harder for him to push himself up and out.</p><p>But he managed, groaning. If Ash or Todd pulled this shit at 3 AM while he was sleeping, he'd tell them to fuck off 'till the morning, unless there was an emergency, but he couldn't say no to Sal. He didn't want to say no to Sally. Only a few weeks had passed since Sal moved in, but Larry couldn't remember if he had ever been so genuinely excited to hang out with someone. Most of his friends just wanted to get trashed and talk about shallow crap. Like school gossip or their crushes. Sal didn't give a shit about any of that. Almost everything Sal said was weird. Unexpected. Sal's brain was <em> weird </em>. Larry wished he could somehow crawl inside that brain and soak up every fucking weird thought he had.</p><p>Taming his wild, long hair with his fingers and making a face at how awful his mouth tasted from the beer he'd drank with Ash earlier, Larry looked around for his hoodie, which was strewn over his dresser, half caught in one of the drawers. He tugged it free, pulled it on. The chill of the fall already permeated Nockfell, promising that winter would be unforgiving.</p><p>Winter in Nockfell always was.</p><p>He took the stairs in his room to the back of the complex, rounding the corner to the front. The chill was even worse that night than the day before, making him draw his hood closer around him, push his hands deeper into his pockets. He fucking despised the cold.</p><p>Not that he liked the summer heat much better, but at least the heat didn't seep all the way down to his bones and make his insides ache with a faint sadness.</p><p>The thicket of trees where he'd smoked since grade seven materialized, the blue shock of Sal's hair preeminent among the muted shades of green and brown and grey, like some sort of delicate, eerie moth.</p><p>"You picked a <em> great </em> night to do this," Larry said, sarcasm dripping.</p><p>Sal shrugged and looked at Larry with what Larry imagined was a blank expression, his voice as calm as it always was. "What's wrong with tonight?"</p><p>Larry realized that Sally didn't even have a jacket on. That he wasn't bothered, in the least, by the cold, even though he could see the bare skin of his arms prickled with goosebumps. He had never seen Sal without long sleeves on. There were raised, ragged white lines on his forearms. "Uhm. Nothing." He changed the subject, raising his eyes to Sal's, pretending he didn't notice anything. "Want a light?" The lighter he produced was a cheap Bic lighter he snagged from the lost and found in the basement. His mom kept confiscating his when she found them.</p><p>Sal took it, sliding down the trunk of the tree he was leaning against until he was sitting on the patch of dirt beneath him. He reached behind his head and unclasped the bottom of his prosthetic so he could lift it up just enough. "You mind?" Sal looked at Larry. No way he could handle his prosthetic, the lighter, and the joint. Larry wanted to tell him that he could just take the thing off, that he wouldn’t care what Sal's face was like under there, but he didn’t want Sal to feel pressured. Tree bark scraped against the back of Larry's hoodie as he slid down next to Sal and took a hold of Sal's prosthetic so he could let go. The lighter clicked three times before lighting. But then Larry stopped him before he brought the joint to his lips.</p><p>"Actually, wait. I should take the first hit. You gotta go slow your first time." He took everything from Sal's hands and lit the joint, dragging on it until there was a healthy orange ember at the tip. "Here."</p><p>"Thanks, man." Sal's hands were smaller than his. He didn't know why he noticed, but he did as he watched Sal take a cautious pull and offer the joint back to him. "Sorry I woke you up," Sal said. "I just…well…sorry."</p><p>"Dude. No reason to be sorry. Sleep is for the weak." Larry took the offering, still noticing how small Sal's hands were. Noticing how small Sal seemed in that moment. How close they were sitting. Noticing, with a searching regard, that he could only see one of Sal's deep blue eyes.</p><p>Sal looked back at him. Then, registering Larry's stare, he turned away, putting his hands against white plastic, covering the holes over his eyes. "Fuck. I forgot to put my eye back in," Sal said, with a shame that made Larry's chest lurch.</p><p>He took Sal's wrist in his hand, absently smoothing his thumb over one of the scars there, letting go. "Hey, dude, I don't care. I've always sort of thought…" his voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. "It's totally fine."</p><p>"I'm a fucking freak, Larry."</p><p>"So?"</p><p>"So? So…" Sal sat up straighter, letting his head fall back against the tree. "So…So, is this supposed to be hitting me already?" He laughed, and it was a beautiful sound.</p><p>Larry couldn't help but laugh, too. "Maybe. You aren't exactly used to it." He took a long drag, the smoke catching in his throat, making him cough out his next words, "Here, take another hit for good measure."</p><p>"I thought I 'had to go slow my first time,'" Sal mimicked Larry's mothering tone, and he could hear the good humor behind the words. Sal didn't have it in his heart to be hurtful. Larry knew that from the moment he met him.</p><p>"Shut up," Larry said, smiled, and watched Sal take another pull, a little longer than the first. Thick wisps of smoke plumed from under his prosthetic, and for a brief second, Larry could see the outline of Sal's chin, but the dark night obscured any detail.</p><p>"Tastes like pine and pepper."</p><p>Larry had never thought about the taste. "Does it?" He inhaled, and thought about it this time. Yeah, pine. Pepper. Sure. "Never noticed before."</p><p>"Feels like a long, lazy summer afternoon."</p><p>The shit Sal said. Larry sighed. "I wish it was. I hate this fucking weather." He glanced sideways at Sally. "Are you really not cold at all?"</p><p>Sal looked down at himself, quiet, as if he only just noticed he didn't have a jacket on. "I guess I am." He shrugged. 'Whatever."</p><p>Larry opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on with Sally, but the direction of Sal's gaze turned sharply, Larry's following, and the words never came. They had both spotted the red blur moving just in view, coming closer. It was a fox. An actual fox. It saw them and stopped.</p><p>Sal lowered his voice, "Have you ever heard of a Kumiho?" The fox came even closer.</p><p>Larry just shook his head, staring, open mouthed. Foxes were intangible creatures he only saw in pictures and movies, until now. Two nights ago, when they were out here together, they had seen a barn owl. He'd never seen one of those either. It was like Sal attracted mysterious animals.</p><p>"They're shapeshifting foxes. Sometimes they have nine tails, sometimes they just look like a plain fox. Sometimes they turn into beautiful women and eat men's hearts."</p><p>"Just men?"</p><p>"Just men."</p><p>"Oh." Larry took a really long drag off the joint in his hand. The fox was sitting now, watching them from a safe distance. Maybe hoping they had food scraps. He knew Mrs. Rosenberg fed the wildlife around Addison. "Why do they do that? Just because?"</p><p>Sal's shoulders were relaxed now, his body slack against the big oak tree. "No, they need to eat one thousand hearts in one thousand years so they can turn into real humans. Or they disappear."</p><p>"How do you know all this shit?" Sal often shared these bizarre bits of information. Now he wouldn't be able to see a fox without thinking of hearts being ripped out of chests.</p><p>"Uhm, I read. Books. Maybe you've heard of them?" Sal made a sound that would most definitely qualify as a giggle, amusement at Larry's indignant expression.</p><p>"You're an ass." Larry giggled too. Then they were both giggling. The noise scared the fox off, its bushy red fire tail whipping around, trailing off into the murky Nockfell woods. But they were still giggling, for far longer than they had any reason to.</p><p>In their fits of laughter, Sal had moved just enough that his shoulder brushed Larry's, a touch that enticed an odd sensation to return to Larry's gut. He didn't really understand it, didn't really want to think about it. He'd felt it before with Sal. It was anxiety mixed with affection mixed with warmth. In the deep recesses of his head, he knew exactly what it was, but he wouldn't let anything discernable float to the forefront. He wouldn't name it. He just wanted to enjoy his time with Sal.</p><p>They passed the stubby joint back and forth until it was too small to hold, the smolder going out.</p><p>"I'm hungry," Sal announced.</p><p>"I have chips in my room. And I think there's still some leftover lasagna in the fridge. Wanna go in?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>The path back to his steps was worn down to bare dirt. Slowly, over time, by his sneakers, then his friends' shoes. Sal's now. The long grass growing around it was sprinkled with pearls of dew. Morning was coming. Larry reached for the door, but Sal wasn't right behind him anymore. He looked around.</p><p>Sal was standing a few feet away, face pointed toward the sky. "It's gunna rain later." For some reason, Larry wished he could see Sally's face in that moment.</p><p>If what Sal said was like any of his other predictions, the rain would come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for taking a look. </p><p>Comments and feedback make me happy, so please do. ♡</p><p>This fic will be updated every 7-10 days.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part I</p><p>(Takes place during "Strange Neighbors")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sal knew every inch of Larry's room. Each of the posters. The mess of clothes that grew more mass every time he came over. The droplets of paint that flecked his dresser. Teal on a handle. Green on the side. Dusky sienna on the mirror. The nonsensical coils of wires that protruded around his TV stand. That fucking bean bag. The fabric smelled. Sal wouldn't sit there.</p><p>He knew the old water stains on the ceiling. And the figurines on the shelf.</p><p>But, now, the room looked like it was turned on high definition. The sharpness and the saturation were jacked way up. He found himself staring at a rogue thread in the carpet, completely unaware that Larry was talking to him. There was a sound like a slow hum, sticky like syrup, oozing in his ears. The carpet was blemished with the ghosts of old footprints, and he leaned, closer, closer, trying to see the fibers of the thread. Like they would give him the answer to why he saw weird things here, in this building. Why he felt like something was horribly wrong with this place.</p><p>A hesitant brush of fingers on his shoulder made his whole body jerk back, his left eye wide. "Shit."</p><p>Everything refocused like he was looking through a camera lens, and he saw Larry's face. He heard Larry's laughter. "Holy fuck dude, you are blazed as balls. Here, eat something." A crumpled bag of sour cream and onion Ruffles were held out to him.</p><p>He snatched them from Larry's hand. "Thanks." He'd never unbuckled the bottom strap of his prosthetic so fast in his life. The chips needed to be in his mouth now. The sour-creamy, amazing, oniony, crunchy chips. Sal closed his eye, ran his tongue against the textured ridges of one of them before crunching down. "So good," he said around his mouthful.</p><p>Larry had sunk into the little couch next to Sal, his laughter fading into soft chuckles that shook his shoulders a little. Larry had nice shoulders.</p><p>Sal leaned his head on the shoulder closest to him, his pale blue hair - messy when it wasn't up in pigtails - falling across Larry's chest. The chuckles stopped.</p><p>"Hey, what's going on with you tonight?" Larry all but whispered. "I just…noticed you don't really seem like yourself. Which is totally okay. I just want you to know you can tell me."</p><p>Sal struggled for a second, straining to remember what he'd been bothered about. Those feelings were so far away now, like the last remnants of a dream slipping away at dawn. A dream. Dreams. Oh, the nightmares. They threatened the corners of his thoughts again, but he shook his head. "I feel fine now. Well…weird, but fine." He forced a nervous laugh. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Larry. He just didn't want to invite the darkness back in. Not right now, when his head moved gently with the rising and falling of Larry's chest. Not now when he was so enjoyably high and warm. When he felt like time was moving slowly through a sieve.</p><p>"Alright." Larry tugged his arm from behind Sal's back, and Sal felt the first shiver run down his back when paint brush calloused fingers grazed his cheek and the strands of hair there. They were so, very careful.</p><p>Sal wanted to reach inside Larry, to see what was there. The first brush of their minds brought an overwhelming tenderness that made it hard to swallow for a moment. Then the second shiver. There was so much tenderness in Larry. He started to reach out again. Larry was so vulnerable, he'd be easy to read deep. But then, he stopped himself, before he could feel anything else. Before he intruded where he didn't belong. He remembered his mom's words. <em>It isn't fair to steal their thoughts, Sal. They're not like us, so try not to look into their hearts if you don't have to.</em></p><p>
  <em>And if you do, be prepared for the consequences.</em>
</p><p>Sal shivered for a third time from the memory. He let go of Larry's subconscious. "You said something about lasagna? I fucking love your mom's lasagna."</p><p>Larry looked at him sideways. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I only have friends because of that lasagna."</p><p>Sal giggled again. He would remember that weed reduced him to ridiculous sounds. "Nah, fuck that, I just like you. But…I also like that lasagna. Where is it?" His voice was pleading.</p><p>Larry seemed reluctant to get up. He took way more than a moment to slide his arm out from behind Sal and push himself to a standing position. "I'll go heat some up for you. You just chill in here. I don't want to wake up mom." He was by his bedroom door before Sal registered the movement. He needed to sleep soon. Not before glorious lasagna, though.</p><p>When the door clicked shut, Sal adjusted himself so he was laying against the arm of the couch, looking up at the blotchy popcorn ceiling. He liked the way pot swirled inside of him. The way it made him forget. He almost forgot enough to take the weight of his prosthetic off his face. But as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface, he remembered that he didn't want Larry to see. Maybe he wouldn't sit as close anymore if he saw. If he saw the raw meat of Sal's scars. The unnatural curl and pull of his lips over his chipped teeth. The missing cartilage of his nose and his shrunken, empty eye socket.</p><p>Larry was always so nice to him, but his mauled face conjured cruelty even from the nicest people.</p><p>His hand moved from acrylic to his chest and he turned his head toward Larry's TV. Larry had cable. He lifted himself up to find the remote. As soon as he did, a violent wave of the worst nausea shot down into his gut and the space of the whole room collapsed around him until it felt as though he was trapped in a tiny box, sheathed tight in plastic wrap, barely able to breathe. He clutched the couch cushion, trying to ground himself to anything when he saw those red, piercing eyes above him.</p><p>He wanted to ask what it was, what it wanted, but he couldn't move the muscles in his throat.</p><p>He knew he was hyperventilating, knew the eyes wouldn't go away until he could close off his sight. He shouldn't have tried to read Larry in this fucking building while he was high, unguarded. He fucked up. Opened himself up. With the last bit of his emotional strength, he lifted his blue eye upward. "What…what are you?" he gasped out.</p><p>The eyes descended, and he raised his arms, shielding himself. That didn't matter. He still found his heart grasped by the hate in those eyes. He saw the knife and felt the sick feeling of it sinking into flesh like butter over and over. The blood pooled plenty. And there was that death smell. He thought he might vomit, his stomach clenching against the smell, against the screams he could hear as if he were the one causing them. Every thrust of the knife drained those lives more and more, and Sal could feel the tears on his cheeks. He didn't want any more of it. Couldn't bear to experience all this pain and grief.</p><p>He remembered, again, his mother's voice. <em>Shut them out. Close your eyes and shut them out. They can't hurt you if they can't reach your insides.</em></p><p>Sal tried his best to draw in a deep breath, and he shut his eye. He forced himself to think of nothing at first, drawing his mind closed as tightly as he could. Then he thought of the apple pie he ate with his mother that day in the park. The tang of cinnamon on his tongue and his lips. The warm sun. Her blonde hair like spun gold in the wind.</p><p>The grip of terror eased, and the room didn't feel as small anymore. He dared to look up. No more red. But the tears still came, warm and salty. He couldn't help the sobs, his small body curling into the corner of the couch. He didn't hear Larry come back in.</p><p>"Fuck." Sal heard the clatter of a plate. "Shit. Sal, are you okay?"</p><p>Larry's hand was on his shoulder, grasping gently, and he gathered up as much of his sanity as he could to breathe out, "No." He wouldn't lie. Not to his friends. He wasn't okay. This was the second time those red eyes had found him.</p><p>"What happened? Please tell me."</p><p>Sal shook his head. He wasn't ready to make more words. He pushed himself up a bit, and he tugged Larry into a tight hug. There was energy there to draw from, energy he didn't have. Just enough to find the edges of reality and claw his way back to it. "I...I see shit. I see weird shit that I can't really explain. There's this thing here...at Addison."</p><p>Larry didn't say anything. He just held him right back, listened. Usually, the laughter or the humiliating shushing would have already started.</p><p>"It's like a nightmare, but I'm awake. I mean...I get nightmares too. But then, I see shit when I'm awake. And it's fucked." His last words were choked by more sobs, and he couldn't stop them. He couldn't. He let himself break down. Larry's arms felt like a safe place to break down. The more the tears came, the more he could feel his body giving out. He didn't have much more left in him without sleep. The pleasant churn of marijuana was gone.</p><p>Larry's response was the last thing he expected. "That sounds awful, man." He was genuine. "You still hungry? You should eat. And I'll turn on the TV. I won't leave again. You can stay here, if you want. Maybe whatever it is won't mess with you if there's two of us."</p><p>Sal could barely process the support. His own dad didn't believe him. "Thanks, Larry," was all he could manage to say.</p><p>Larry seemed to understand, though, and he brought Sal his plate. "You can have the bed."</p><p>"I'm good here." Sal said.</p><p>Larry nodded and turned off the overhead light, leaving the small, dim lamp beside the couch on. He clicked the TV on, flipping the channels to Cartoon Network. He gave Sal the remote. Gave him a heavy blanket, a pillow, and got comfortable in his bed. "Wake me up if you need something."</p><p>Sal knew Larry meant it. And he noticed that Larry didn't settle until he had eaten, had tucked himself into the blanket and started to let sleep take him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for taking a look. </p><p>Comments and feedback make me happy, so please do. ♡</p><p>This fic will be updated every 7-10 days.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Larry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part II</p><p>(Takes place during "The Wretched")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mom, I have my license now. Can't I just take it out for a little while?" Larry looked at her from across the dinner table, his food untouched. He knew his mom didn't want him to go anywhere besides the apartments and school, even if it was only for a few hours. As if he would keep driving the car until he was far, far away. But he would never do that to her. He never wanted her to feel that abandonment ever again. "I promise I'll only be a few hours. And I'm gunna take Sally with me."</p><p>His mom poked her plate with her fork, scraping the remnants of her broccoli around. "I don't know. It's not the best weather…and it's the only car we've got. What if-"</p><p>"I'm not going to wreck it." He was terse. He'd aced the road test.</p><p>"I didn't think tha-"</p><p>"I know you think I'm a fuck up. That I'm going to leave like you think dad did." He ground the words out before he could think about them. The way they would make his mom's face grimace.</p><p>Her eyes glazed over with sadness, fork clattering onto her plate. "Larry, I don't think that at all!" Larry knew she didn't like to raise her voice. The sadness in her eyes was replaced with regret, and she put her hands over her face. There was a long pause before she spoke again, "You can take the car. Only if you ask Mr. Fisher to take Sal with you and only if you're back by eleven."</p><p>"Mom, I'm sorry." Larry reached over and took his mom's plate, put his own on top of it to take them to the sink. He felt the guilt at what he'd said like a lead weight in his stomach. He loved his mom. She was special, and she didn't deserve all the shit she went through. She worked hard to keep them both on their feet. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage, even though he wanted to say, <em>I just want you to stop worrying about me.</em> <em>I want you to be happy and stop worrying.</em></p><p>"Lar, it's alright. The spare key is in the cabinet above the fridge. Have a nice time." She got up, and she started towards her room. "I'm going to lay down for a while. It's been a day." She'd been up since three a.m. He knew, because he was up too. Another night of insomnia. "Tell Sal I said hi."</p><p>"I will. Thanks." Mom had become really fond of Sal, too. She'd finally discovered that Sal snuck into Larry's room at night and slept on his couch after he had nightmares. Often. She didn't question it much. She told Larry that Sal could come over whenever he wanted to. Needed to. She even left extra lasagna in the fridge for him, labeled with his name. Sal hadn't been over in a couple weeks, though, and Larry was glad he wasn't having nightmares, but…he also missed it. The familiar presence in his room. Sal in his room.</p><p>Larry finished putting his food in a container. Mom always made dinner too early for him because of how early she got up for work. It was only four o'clock. But he always sat with her. His dad had taught him manners.</p><p>The dishwasher whirred as it came to life, the trickling sound of water filling up the silence in the kitchen.</p><p>His room was the mess it always was, and it took him a minute to locate anything clean. He looked around after he pulled a clean t-shirt on, finding a plaid button up to throw over it. Black shirt, purple and black plaid, the mirror's reflective surface was smudged. That really needed to be cleaned.</p><p>Trying to tame his hair that day was useless. He brushed it down with his fingers, groaning at the way it looked. He resigned himself to tying it in a loose bun at the base of his neck with a hair tie, and then he realized he was totally preening. Before he could really think about it, though, the house phone rang.</p><p>"Shit." It was so loud. It would wake mom. He ran out to the kitchen, answered it quickly. "Yo."</p><p>Ash's voice came through, "Whatcha doin, buttmunch?" It was her standard greeting.</p><p>"About to go out."</p><p>"What? Out? And I don't know about it?"</p><p>"Like you know everything I do."</p><p>"Where are ya goin?"</p><p>"Probably the mall."</p><p>"By yourself? That sounds lame as fuck."</p><p>"No. With Sally."</p><p>Silence, and then, "…do you have a crush on him or something?"</p><p>Larry made a face. "What? <em>No.</em>" Ash's laughter only irritated him more. And his throat clenched. And he clenched against the stupid feeling rising in his chest, the feeling that he was definitely, completely lying. To her and himself.</p><p>"Oooookay. Suuuure. That's why you're always hanging out alone."</p><p>"Ash, seriously, stop. You're being a dumbass."</p><p>He could practically see her rolling her eyes. "Mmkay. Well, have fun. We should all chill tomorrow night, though. I've got some free Blockbuster coupons and my mom said she'd get pizza."</p><p>"Alright, I'll tell Sal."</p><p>"Cool. Seven at my house. Later."</p><p>"Later." When the line went dead, Larry slammed the handset back on the wall more forcefully than he meant to. Ash was nosy as fuck. At least Todd had boundaries. He sighed. The trickling water of the dishwasher had stopped, the whirring noise started churning louder and louder and he closed his eyes against the nausea that pooled in his stomach. When he opened them, red glowed bright in the dark recesses of the kitchen, but then it was gone, and the nausea was gone.</p><p>Larry swallowed, reduced to clutching the wall, his back pressed against it. His hands were shaking.</p><p>This was why they needed to get the hell out of Addison for a while. He didn't want to think about this shit anymore. The more he was forced to think about it, the more he knew he couldn't remain oblivious. That it was real. He pushed himself off the wall and reached for the key above the fridge. He'd known it was there before mom told him. It jingled as he put it in his pocket and left to go get Sal.</p><p>--</p><p>The backroads in Nockfell were beautiful. Especially in the dark, and it got darker earlier and earlier in the winter. By the time they left, the sky was already a dusky grey, and he could see the stars, and the moon. Sal seemed hypnotized by the view out the windshield. He was so quiet. But, silence was never awkward between them.</p><p>Larry had taken the car out many times behind his mom's back just to ride around at night under the stars, in the Nockfell wilderness that led to the nearest city. He wasn't proud of his deception, but he knew she wouldn't approve. Not so frequently. He liked to turn his music up and smoke. He liked to be alone. He never thought he'd want to share this with someone. But he knew Sal would love this as much as he did.</p><p>He rolled his window down even though it was freezing outside. Blue hair whipped in the frigid wind, and Sal raised his face toward it. Larry felt that ache in his chest again.</p><p>He wished Sal would take his prosthetic off. He wanted, so badly, to see his face for what it was. He already knew he didn't care.</p><p>"Sal."</p><p>Sal turned and looked at him, and he could see the bright blue of his real eye, his glass eye so clearly in the dark. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Whad'ya wanna listen to?" He handed Sal the CD case.</p><p>Sal flipped through it, one page, another, another. Then, he snagged one of the CDs and handed it to him. It was his dad's old Fleetwood Mac CD. "Really?"</p><p>"Yeah. That a problem, Johnson?" Sal's voice was full of mischief. He could hear the smile.</p><p>"No, man. Just…I wouldn't have guessed."</p><p>"It…was my mom's favorite. And I like the guitar." Sal turned his head back toward the open window.</p><p>Larry didn't know much about Sal's mom. He knew something had happened to her, something bad. Sal talked about her often. He knew her name was Diane. "What…happened to her?" his voice was gentle. He put the CD in.</p><p>Sal was real still for a moment. "She…was protecting me. Someone was trying to hurt me, and she protected me."</p><p>Larry didn't plan to push any further. He dug out another cigarette from his pack.</p><p>"Can I have one?" Sal asked, as the guitar picked up in the car. It was pretty damn good.</p><p>Larry hesitated. He knew his habit was dirty. But he handed the pack to Sal, lit his, and handed him the lighter, too. He wasn't Sal's parent. He could do what he wanted to.</p><p>He focused on the road, but heard the clicks of Sal's prosthetic straps. Two clicks, not just one. He resisted the urge to look, but he knew Sal had taken it all the way off. Was lighting his cigarette. Facing toward the window, uncovered. That fucking ache again. Want, want to see.</p><p>Sal's voice interrupted his internal bullshit. His voice was completely clear for the first time. It wasn't muffled anymore. "You ever think about not stopping? Getting away from everything. All the stupid shit?" He still kept his face hidden, watching the miles of firs out the passenger side window. "I've wished for that since my mom died. I can't stand being around my dad anymore. It's not his fault, but he just reminds me of it. He makes me sad."</p><p>Sal knew what had happened with Larry's own dad. He knew the answer to his question before he even asked it. Sal was strange that way. He knew things. Larry didn't know how. "Yeah. You know that, though."</p><p>"Yeah. Sorry. I guess I just wanted to hear it from you."</p><p>They fell into another silence, the music drifting through the car, Sal starting to sing along. And Larry didn't think his heart could take it. He hadn't expected it. Sal's voice to sound like…that. To be so fucking sweet. He could feel the ache all the way down in the pit of stomach. Lower. He couldn't remember ever feeling so alive. It was the perfect moment. He rolled his own window down, letting the icy air prickle along his skin as he raised his own voice to answer Sal's song.</p><p>They both sang out into the night, loud, wanting. Wanting so much.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who's still reading this.</p><p>I know the gaps between chapters are a lot, but I have a lot going on in my life. I will always keep it to the max of 10 days, though. The next chapter will probably be a bit longer.</p><p>And, just FYI, this fic will be pretty long. I have a whole lot of ideas.</p><p>If you could comment and let me know what you're thinking/feeling so far, that would be great!</p><p>Thanks for looking!</p><p>I'll update again in another 7-10 days.  ♡</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part II</p><p>(Takes place during "The Wretched")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Sal</strong>
</p><p>Of course the first store Larry wanted to go into was the toy store. Sal smiled as he watched him head straight for the RC cars. He’d been talking about taking some out to the school’s parking lot one weekend and racing them. Sal knew better than to try and stop Larry from acting on his crazy impulses. He enjoyed them, and he didn’t mind being in detention with Larry for a few hours if they got caught.</p><p>He stood outside the store for a couple minutes too long, watching Larry disappear into the aisles. His senses were overloaded here. There were so many people, and it was hard to block them all out. Snippets of thoughts, of feelings, kept slipping in and out of his head, his skin tingling with goosebumps, and he had to still himself and focus to quiet them. He had to remember that he <em>could</em> keep them out. It just took almost every bit of his concentration when there were so many.</p><p>When he looked back up, Larry was right in front of him.</p><p>“You alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, man, sorry. Just haven’t...been in a crowd in a while.”</p><p>If Larry thought that was weird, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and, unexpectedly, reached down and tugged on his hand toward the toy store. “C’mon, I wanna show you what I found. I think I have the money…”</p><p>Before they could cross the threshold into the store, though, Sal felt eyes on them. He pulled his hand from Larry’s without thinking about it, before he even turned around. Knowing he had to. Knowing by the sound of laughter and the sneering voice that had followed him around since he had shown up for his first day of school in Nockfell.</p><p>“Oh, look, I knew they were faggots. Faggots <em>and</em> freaks.” More laughter.</p><p>Sal felt Larry’s entire being stiffen. The excitement Sal had felt from him twisted into anger, reflected in his inky eyes as he met Travis Phelps’ scrutiny. Sal’s guard wasn’t up anymore. Larry’s anger was blistering like hot pavement under the summer sun. Sal could feel it like it was solid, and it burned his lungs as he pulled in a deep breath, already knowing he wasn’t going to be able to stop Larry from crossing the distance between him and Travis. “Shut the fuck up, Phelps. Or this won’t end well for you. I don’t care that we’re in public.”</p><p>He didn’t touch Travis, but the threat was there. It was there in the way Larry used his height as intimidation. The two guys that were with Travis backed up, but Travis didn’t. Travis was an idiot. Sal didn’t doubt that Larry would actually hurt him.</p><p>“Larry, come on. They’re fucking morons. We were going to look at the cars…” Sal pleaded, hoping Larry would listen to him. He really didn’t care what Travis called him. He didn’t care what anyone called him anymore. It barely registered. Faggot, freak, weirdo, fairy, fruit, girly boy. He’d heard it all. And he knew Larry wasn’t defending himself.</p><p>But Travis opened his mouth again. “So are you<em> faggots</em> on a faggot date?”</p><p>“<em>And what if we are</em>?” Larry’s voice was sharp, deep, and he moved even closer, “it won’t change how bad my fist hurts when it connects with your dumbass face.”</p><p>“<em>Larry</em>,” Sal took a few steps forward and put his hand on Larry’s shoulder. The tension in his back sagged at the contact. Some of his anger eased. “Come on. Fuck them,” Sal said, soft, his voice even, unaffected.</p><p>Larry looked back at him, searching. He seemed to find the reassurance he was looking for in Sal’s gaze and his tone, because he backed up. </p><p>“Pussy,” Travis clearly wanted a fight, or he wanted Larry to hit him first so he could act like a victim.</p><p>But Larry rolled his eyes. He put his arm around Sal’s shoulders, pulled him closer. “You’re lucky, Phelps. That I wanna make out with my boyfriend more than I want to punch you in the face.” </p><p>An immediate rush of gratefulness filled Sal’s chest. Gratefulness that no one could see his facial expression. He knew Larry was just talking shit to make Travis uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop his throat from constricting, like it was full of cotton. Or his cheeks from getting hot, or his neck from itching, and Larry’s words forming vivid pictures in his head. Pictures he stuffed down where he stuffed all <em>those</em> thoughts before they reached the part of his brain that would make lower parts of his body react. He didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t say anything. He just let Larry lead them back towards the store, away from Travis. Away from the obvious shock and disgust on his features.</p><p>He wanted to put his arm around Larry’s waist, knowing he could play it off too, but he couldn’t. It would mean something to him. And if he played it off, he would be lying. He waited until they were halfway down one of the aisles and Larry let him go. Waited to hear the familiar sound of Larry’s cheeky laugh. “His <em>face</em>.”</p><p>Sal forced out a chuckle, took a step back so he wasn’t so close to Larry anymore. So he could form coherent thoughts again. “Yeah. He looked...unhappy.”</p><p>Sal wished that he could have found the nerve to say something to Larry then. To tell Larry that he’d be alright with making out. But that would involve Larry seeing his face. That would involve the possibility of losing the closest friend he’d ever had. His<em> best</em> friend. That wasn’t something Sal would risk. Not for anything. He’d come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t act on any of the feelings he kept having. He definitely couldn’t pretend they weren’t there anymore, like he’d done for the entire first year they’d known one another. But he had to keep them to himself. He couldn’t think about Larry’s fucking lips. Or his hands. Or the stubble he was getting on his jawline. And how much he wanted to run his fingers over it.</p><p>The most difficult part was that he knew, with certainty, that he could end his misery one way or another. He could delve into Larry’s head again like he had started to once, but <em>no</em>. He wouldn’t do that either. Larry’s thoughts were his, and they needed to stay that way. If Larry felt anything besides friendship for him, he’d have to say it himself.</p><p>
  <strong>Larry</strong>
</p><p>“Saaaaally.”</p><p>Larry touched Sal’s shoulder, shaking him a little. He was doing that thing again. That thing where he spaced out, went vacant in his working eye like his soul was someplace else even though his body was right there. The first time Sal had done this, Larry was afraid he was having a seizure. But it happened so frequently that he was used to it now. Sometimes Larry felt like Sal’s tether to reality. Like if it weren’t for him, Sal would slip away to another plane of existence, willing. He seemed to visit other places more readily than he existed in the actual world, and Larry couldn’t blame him. He’d go too if he could.</p><p>Sal came back, slow. Turned his head the slightest bit to take in their surroundings. “Sorry.” Sal said, curt, flat. Not offering any more.</p><p>Nerves crept into his stomach. Maybe what he said was the wrong thing to say. Sal was freaked out. He really didn’t want Sal to be freaked out.</p><p>“Dude, I was totally joking, by the way. Yanking Travis’s chain,” he covered, quickly. He had acted on pure adrenaline. Wanting to see the look on Travis’s face. But, selfishly, also wanting an excuse to touch Sal. To talk about Sal as something more than a friend. It was stupid.</p><p>Sal stayed quiet and Larry's heart started beating faster. But, just as he was about to start making up more shit, Sal said, "Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just real loud in here."</p><p>Larry assumed Sal was talking about the volume in his head, because the store was pretty quiet, save for a few kids chattering in the next aisle over. "You wanna get out of here? I can grab these and we can go."</p><p>Then, Sal was shaking his head. "Nah, I'm alright. I still want to go to that music store." He looked down at the RC cars Larry had grabbed off the shelf. "Those look cool." His voice sounded normal again, and Larry had to keep himself from sighing in relief out loud.</p><p>"Yeah, man. I have exactly the right amount of cash, too. We have to take them out next weekend."</p><p>'Why not tomorrow?"</p><p><em>Fuck. </em>Larry's entire body relaxed at that. Sal wasn't going to be weird. "We could do it tomorrow."</p><p>Sal grabbed the cars out of his hands before he could say anything, his steps hurried toward the checkout counter before Larry could catch up with him. He was handing the cashier money.</p><p>"You really don't have to do that," Larry started to reach for his wallet.</p><p>Sal leaned on the counter. The cashier counted out his change. "No. I want to. Don't fight me on it. You'll lose."</p><p>They didn't say much on their way to the other side of the mall, where the little secondhand music shop sat. Larry haunted the place, imagining he had the money to get one of the record players. All the records. The shop owner had told him to buy something or leave last time he was in here. Lucky for him, the only person in the store was Paula. Paula was cool. She'd slipped him free weed once. Told him she liked it when he came in.</p><p>As soon as she saw him, she was up and across the store. "Lar!"</p><p>He gritted his teeth at the nickname, but smiled anyway. "Hey, Paula." He turned to introduce Sal, but when he looked, Sal was already wandering to the back of the store. He let out a breathy laugh. "Uhm. That's Sal. He's...Sal."</p><p>Paula glanced at Sal's disappearing form and laughed too. "Uh, yeah. Okay."</p><p>"He's hard to explain."</p><p>Paula showed him what was new. She led him around the front of the store, handing him headphones. The same thing she always did when he came in. But he wanted to follow Sal. He wanted to know what had drawn him to the back. He listened to a little bit of the track Paula played for him, nodding. Taking the headphones off. As soon as he did, he heard the sound from behind them. A guitar. It was quiet, but Larry knew it was Sal.</p><p>"Be right back." He handed Paula the headphones and headed toward the lilting notes of the song they had listened to in the car earlier.</p><p>"I...didn't know you could play." He said when he saw Sal holding a fire engine red electric guitar in his hands, plucking at the strings with his bare fingers.</p><p>Sal didn't stop playing, and Larry was hypnotized by the way his hands moved over the strings. He didn't think he could feel any more things for Sal, but he almost needed to steady himself against the shelf behind him. He settled for stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. He wasn't sure if he could hide the look on his face. The way his jaw slackened, the way his eyes softened, his pupils dilating. Sal didn't even notice him, though. He was lost in the song. He kept playing, and soon Paula was standing next to him, too, ruining what felt like a private moment.</p><p>Sal stopped abruptly. "Shit. I'm probably not supposed to touch this, right?"</p><p>Paula shook her head. "Naw, you're fine. But like...wow."</p><p>"Yeah, wow," Larry looked down at his feet. His insides were too raw.</p><p>Sal hurriedly put the guitar back where he had taken it down from.</p><p>"You sure you don't want it?" Paula asked.</p><p>Sal laughed, but it was melancholy. "I can't afford this."</p><p>Sal didn't wait for either of them to say anything, heading to the front of the store, to the exit. Larry wanted to cry at how unpredictable Sal was. But he didn't want it to change. Ever.</p><p>"Sorry, Paula." He looked at her bemused expression, and then glanced over his shoulder at the guitar again. "Uhm, could you possibly hold that? I...think I could get the money for it." He noticed how sad Sal's voice had been. He wanted this.</p><p>"Sure, Lar." She sounded just as confused as she looked, but Larry trusted that she would do it.</p><p>"Thanks." He couldn't see Sal anymore. "Fuck, I gotta go. See ya."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>Hope you enjoyed it. Please comment and let me know what you think!</p><p>Update in another 7-10 days. ♡</p><p>(Oh, I forgot to mention...I made a Twitter to post updates or delays, etc. on if anyone is interested in following. https://twitter.com/Serpentwyne1)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Larry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Part II</p><p>(Takes place during "The Wretched")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m shit at wrapping presents, Todd. Please, <em> please</em>, do it for me.” Larry looked down at the disfigured mess of paper in front of him. Metallic gold glinted up at him, torn in several places. A lot of places. The entire thing was riddled with way too much tape.</p><p>“What makes you think <em> I’m </em>any better at it?” Todd was at the other end of the living room, attaching the streamers that hung from the center of the ceiling to the corners of the ceiling. The room was starting to morph into a giant rainbow parachute, colors perfectly alternated. There was no way in hell Todd was bad at wrapping if he could do that.</p><p>“I dunno, isn’t wrapping like...mathematical?”</p><p>“Ugh.” Todd hated when people called him mathematical. Or sciency. Even though they were both accurate descriptions. “Make Ash do it. I’m busy.”</p><p>“So am I!” Ash yelled from the kitchen. She was making potato salad. Sal’s favorite potato salad. Ash’s mom made it for them the first time Sal went with him and Todd to her house, and he ate about ten helpings of it.</p><p>Larry let out a frustrated breath through his nose. “Okay.” They only had twenty minutes before Sal showed up. Tearing all the ruined paper off and throwing it to the side, he rolled out giant swathes of gold and wrapped them around the entire box three times. Then he pinned it all down with tape on the sides. It still looked like shit, but at least it didn’t look like a raccoon had its way with it.</p><p>He brought it over to the table where the cake sat. The frosting was glossy black, hiding the four layers of dyed black cake underneath. The top said <em> Happy Fucking Birthday, Sally Face </em> in carefully piped white icing. Maple did good. Larry glanced at the one other gift. His mom had wrapped that one. The edges were all identical, neat. He couldn’t even tell where the tape was. Sighing, he lay the larger box down next to it and tried not to grimace at the juxtaposition.</p><p>“You done?” he asked Todd as he turned around. Todd nodded. The room looked amazing. Every inch of the walls and ceiling was covered in streamers. Blacklight streamers. Once the presents were opened and the cake eaten, they planned to turn off all the lights and turn on black lights and loud, ear-splitting music. Anyone at school that wasn’t an asshole was invited.</p><p>When Sal had admitted he’d never had enough friends to have a real birthday party, Larry knew what he had to do. And maybe went a little overboard. Sal liked other people, though, more than he did. More than most of their group did. He had an empathy for them that Larry wished he could muster.</p><p>All he was interested in was keeping his own safe. Making them happy.</p><p>“Hey, buttmunch, you gonna tap the keg?” Ash’s voice reached through the miasma of anxiety that was threatening his mood. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Comin’.” He trudged over to the kitchen where the glinting silver keg was buried in ice, waiting. Maybe he’d start early so he could get the taste of nervousness out of his mouth. <em> Why am I so fucking nervous? </em> </p><p>As if she knew what he was thinking, Ash slung her arm around his shoulders. Most of the time he’d bristle at any unsought touch and shrug her off, but the hand on his arm was, for once, comforting and his stomach stopped twisting itself into a gordian knot. At least for a moment.</p><p>“It’s gonna be a good party. Sal will love it. Stop worrying and help me. You’re the only one that knows how to do this shit without making a mess.” She planted a peck on his cheek, shoving his shoulder a little for motivation.</p><p>Larry could hear Todd opening the door for people behind him as he picked up the keg pump, twisting it into place and making sure it was sealed. The last time Ash had tried to get a keg ready, half the beer ended up on the floor. Most of the party was spent mopping and trying to figure out how to get more without a car or a sober person.</p><p>While everyone was distracted by the last early arrivals, Larry poured himself a cup and downed it in a couple gulps. Then he poured another, watching the foam rising, steady, to the top. Just as he was about to drink, the microwave clock caught his eye, and he set the cup down a little faster than intended, amber flecks splattering on the front of his favorite white Melvins shirt. “Hey! Sal is supposed to be here in a few minutes,” he yelled through his cupped hands.</p><p>Todd and Neil ducked behind the couch with Maple and Ash, Robert dipping into the bathroom, Azaria, Sierra, and CJ hiding in the closet nearest the front door, and Chug obliviously shoveling chips into his mouth from the big bowl on the coffee table.</p><p>“Chug, for <em> fuck’s </em> sake.”</p><p>Chug just stared at him, and then the sudden, rhythmic knock on the door reminded him to get out of sight.</p><p>Larry’s stomach started twisting inside out again. He quickly downed half of his second cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he walked over to the door and dimmed the living room lights so the decorations wouldn’t be immediately apparent.</p><p>The door made the loud screech it always did when it opened, and he smiled at Sal on the other side. “Hey.”</p><p>“Hey,” Sal scanned him, “Uhm, how’d you manage to pee on your shirt?”</p><p>Larry’s eyes darted down to the yellow beer spatter he’d already forgotten about and the sound of Sal’s laugh made his stomach ease up a little. “I’m not telling. It’s a secret technique.” he opened the door wider, letting Sal slip past him.</p><p>“Aiming up is a secret technique?” Sal laughed some more, turning toward the kitchen, probably to grab a Coke like he always did, but then his steps faltered. “Wait.” He looked up at the streamers. “Oh.”</p><p>Larry flicked the lights all the way back up, which was supposed to be the cue.</p><p>“Happy birthday!” Several voices called out.</p><p>Larry would remember how still Sal got at the shouts, how his left eye widened, and how his insides felt watching all their friends hug him. How Sal’s arms felt around him when he turned and hugged him too while everyone else started talking and turning music on.</p><p>“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He could hear the curve of Sal’s lips.</p><p>“Well, I mean, not <em> just </em> my idea. Everyone helped.”</p><p>“Yeah, but it was your idea.” Sal wasn’t asking.</p><p>The buzz of beer was already winding an encouraging line up Larry’s spine. He put his own arm around Sal and pulled him a little closer so he could say, next to his ear, “Happy sweet sixteen, Sally.” He leaned back a little. “More people are coming after presents.”</p><p>“Dude, you guys didn’t have to-”</p><p>“They’re from all of us. But you have to wait until after cake,” Neil interrupted, and Larry had the fleeting urge to strangle him when Sal’s body heat was gone, but <em> that </em> wasn’t normal. </p><p>He swallowed. “Yeah, so let’s have cake.”</p><p>The cake didn’t last long, and neither did Larry’s next cup of beer.</p><p>By the time Sal was about to unwrap the first one - the neat one - Larry was sunk into the couch, his face warm and a lopsided smile tilting his lips. Sal looked down at the amp, and it was another in a long list of moments that Larry wanted to see the expression on his face and not just imagine.</p><p>“Hold on, guys, I don’t…” Sal started and then Ash was putting the other package in his hands.</p><p>“Just open it.” Ash grinned and plopped down beside Larry.</p><p>Gold wrapping paper shed on the floor, and the shitty wrap job forgotten, Sal pried open the box, and Larry’s lips turned up into a wider smile as Sal’s fingers ran over the scarlet guitar, reverent. Larry had been determined to save the money up for it himself, but he realized he wouldn’t have the money for a long, long time. Every single one of their friends had chipped in without much convincing. Rob had almost paid for the whole thing himself when Larry told him Sal was <em> really </em>good at playing. That Sal had offered his acoustic to his dad to sell, along with plenty of his other belongings, so they could move away from the bad memories.</p><p>“Jesus fuck, I…” Sal picked the guitar up out of the box, hand sliding down the frets, hugging it to his chest. “I, why? How?”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. Like it?” Larry pushed himself to the edge of the couch.</p><p>Sal was quiet, strumming at the strings absently, before, “Fuck. Thank you so much, guys…” and Larry knew there were tears. This was why he hadn’t invited anyone they didn’t know well until after the presents.</p><p>A chorus of you’re welcomes and happy birthdays sounded and Ash got up, grabbing Larry’s cup and finishing it, shouting, “Who wants to play beer pong before this place gets crowded?” Larry knew she was just getting the heat off Sal. He didn’t like it when people fussed over him.</p><p>Larry understood that shit well. Raising his hips, he dug the joint he’d saved for Sal out of his pocket. “Hey-” the couch sagged next to him.</p><p>Sal sat there, holding up his own joint, “Wanna-” he started, then noticed Larry was holding up one, too.</p><p>‘Wanna smoke?” Larry finished, letting his body fall against the back of the couch as they both shook with quiet laughter. “Where’d you get that?”</p><p>“CJ.” Sal reached into his hoodie and presented the little box of matches he brought with him everywhere. He insisted on lighting cigarettes and joints with them instead of a lighter, and he let them burn until the flame almost touched his fingertips. Larry had lovingly called him a <em> fucking pyro </em> once.</p><p>Sal didn’t even have to ask anymore, Larry held the edge of his prosthetic so he could light up, the match flickering to life and adding to the burnt wood, magnolia smell of Sal.</p><p>Sal fell back onto the couch next to him, his stare fixated on the guitar leaning against the wall across from them. “I don’t...know what to do with all this.” <em> This </em> being basic human kindness, Larry gathered.</p><p>“Enjoy it. And stop thinking about it so hard.” The kitchen was getting loud, the apartment filled with the sounds of ping pong balls hitting the floor, laughter, and bass from the music someone kept turning up. Sal didn’t say anything. Larry hooked a finger in Sal’s hoodie pocket and slipped the other joint in. “It was for you anyway. Since you’re not into drinking.”</p><p>Sal shrugged. “Might tonight.”</p><p>“Alright...just take it easy.” Larry took one more drag off the joint before he handed it back to Sal and stood. Just as he found his feet, there was a knock at the door. He dragged his concerned gaze away from Sal, turning to open it when a tight grip caught his wrist.</p><p>“Hey, Larry. Thanks for everything, man. I...thanks.”</p><p>One side of Larry’s mouth lifted up, showing some of his crooked teeth. His heart definitely did something weird. “No need to thank me. Go chill with everyone. They came here for you.”</p><p>Once more people started filtering in, the music got louder, everyone got drunker, higher, the black lights came on, and Larry thanked the god he didn’t believe in that he lived in the basement and he had his mom’s blessing while she was out of town.</p><p>It didn’t hurt that he could lock his room from the outside, either. Every crevice of the apartment was occupied with thick pot smoke and bodies, and if anyone fucked with his art supplies, he’d kill them.</p><p>While he was half-listening to Rob talk about the food in Nepal, some asshole had put on crappy R&amp;B and then Larry was up, trying to change it, seven beers, one joint, and two bong hits deep. The stereo might as well have been a jet engine, his vision swimming as he tried to make the fucking thing <em> eject </em>.</p><p>Some sweet soul decided to take pity on him, though, their hands brushing his aside, slipping the CD case from the shelf. He tucked his wayward hair behind his ear and peered next to him, almost squinting to make out the shape of a face. “Oh, hey, Ash.”</p><p>“Sal wants me to put something on for him.” She slid Larry’s favorite Sanity’s Fall CD in. “He wants to play.”</p><p>Larry rested his hand on the wall, stabilizing himself, and craned his neck. Sal was fiddling with knobs on his amp, then taking a sip out of his cup, then standing and fastening his prosthetic strap, adjusting his guitar strap. Larry’s mouth went kinda dry at that image and the demon in the back of his head cackled at him. He was <em> not </em> going to survive this. He recalled the faint ache in his jeans and the massive case of <em> unable to remember words </em> he contracted the last time Sal had played in front of him, and he wasn’t even plugged in then.</p><p>The song surrounded them, snarling, vibrating the wall he was leaning on, and after a moment, Sal was clawing at his guitar, and Larry still didn’t understand how he was only recently finding out how talented Sal was, why Sal didn’t say anything. But then, giving up his acoustic must have <em> gutted </em> him. Maybe he couldn’t talk about it.</p><p>The conjecture vanished from his thoughts when Sal started playing his <em> own </em>riff over the recorded track, his guitar jangling and growling into the room. People were turning around to watch, putting down their beers, pulling their mouths apart, nodding their heads.</p><p>A surge of miserable, traitorous desire filled Larry. There wasn’t a single thing he could do about his body’s reaction to Sal moving with the song, his own playing. His electric blue pigtails bobbing, swinging as he shook his head madly. He wasn’t even looking at the strings anymore.</p><p>Larry was. He was looking at Sal’s fingers on them, the demon whispering <em> you want him to touch you, too</em>, <em> wrap his fingers around- </em> Larry momentarily shut his eyes against the thought and the spinning in his head. Despite the sheer amount of alcohol in his bloodstream, the front of his already tight jeans was getting very, noticeably tighter. His cheeks and neck went white-hot at the ridiculousness, the fucking inconvenience of getting a stiffy while he was <em> so </em> trashed and <em> so </em> unable to hide it and <em> so </em>surrounded by people.</p><p>Everyone was watching Sal, thankfully. Larry shoved himself off the wall, unsteady, and stumbled through the throng of people toward some sort of privacy. He glanced at the bathroom by the kitchen just as someone pushed the door open and went in. <em> Fuck. </em> Then he thought of his room. But no, someone would know something was up if he went in there. The only other option was the bathroom in his mom’s room. </p><p>The song was almost over. He really hoped no one was in there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, everyone, for your patience. I had a family emergency this week that really took my attention away from writing, and when I finally had the time, I was exhausted and couldn't really focus. So I'm pleased I'm only a day late.</p><p>I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Please leave me some feedback, that'd be lovely.</p><p>Also, a big THANK YOU to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumibunni">lumibunni</a> for proofreading for me.</p><p>'Till next time!!</p><p>(Update every 7-10 days)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>